Darkness Shows The Stars
by starkaholicswag
Summary: Now that Nasir's light has forever slipped from grasp, Agron stands nothing but an avenging ghost driven by pain of loss. He longs for sweet escape in death, yet when life finally meets end as desperate plea to be reunited with brother and lover leaves last breath, Agron never could have prepared self to what follows next. He wakes to a world so far removed from one he's known.
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

So this plot bunny has been gnawing at my brain for quite some time. It had to be fucking written down. Apologies if it is not par to liking. First time in writing with this kind of setting. God, the speech pattern kills me Dx Anyway, hope you guys still enjoy :) If it gets good feedback, will post the rest.

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** Chapter 1 **

Saved from pain of the cross only to be ripped away from loving arms. It is fate worse than death.

_Nasir._

Agron will never understand how Naeivia survived. To be parted forever from one loved most dearly and yet find the strength to live; not a thing meant for him. Despite having taken vengeance on as many Roman shits as his body would allow, he is still left with emptiness so deep there is naught left but an endless black hole where beating heart used to reside.

He is but a shell of the man he once was.

If given chance to make different choice, he would've fled with Nasir to distant lands; far away from this wretched place, away from the rebellion, from every fucking Roman shit that took pleasure in ripping away everyone he holds dear. He would've found great joy in being a shepherd or tiller of land, Nasir by his side, as they lived that simple life. He stands a fool. Desperate imaginings will never bear fruit for the future no longer holds Nasir to share it with.

Many moons passed and yet whenever eyes were to close, all he could see was sad, love-filled gaze and bittersweet smile adorning bloodied lips.

"Do not loose self with my death Agron. Promise that you will live." Every syllable forming on tongue is a struggle for breath, yet Nasir couldn't be deterred to voice plea.

"Cease talk of demise at once." Words choke out through Agron's clogged throat as tears continue to spill from turquoise eyes, hand profusely pressing cloth of worn coat against gaping wound on Nasir's chest to staunch bleeding. "You are not to leave this world. You are not to be parted from me. I will not allow it!"

"Promise me." Nasir presses on, unfocused, weakened gaze boring into his soul.

It is Nasir's last request, the words echoing back to him not too long ago when it was he who encouraged Nasir to find joy in the remaining days even if it meant in the arms of fucking Cilician. How could he make such request of him now when heart was sworn never to beat for another?

"No I will not." Agron rasps out, desperation coloring every word.

Once upon a time, thought of ending Crassus' life once and for all was what greatly occupied mind. Charging into battle with Crixus meant ensuring a future for Nasir where he is to live a full life and truly be free. He would've readily offered blood to make certain he lives no matter how much heart yearned to run away with him to the alps.

Death seemed inevitable then, accepted fate never to return to loving embrace. Yet having been saved from crucifixion, to once again set gaze upon his little man, he praised the gods for granting survival. Nasir was never from his side, tending to wounds, whisperings words of love and promises and apologies for unknowingly leading the Cilician on. There was no room for stubborn pride nor flicker of jealousy at the Cilician shit's name. Theirs was only bestowing of forgiveness and mending broken hearts. As soon as battle wounds healed, they made love and shook loose the earth with unbridled passion as if every kiss, every touch, every breathy whisper of undying devotion was their last. Castus remained following Nasir with longing gaze, yet Nasir's complete undivided attention was solely upon him, his sweet smile lighting up Agron's world as the sun. A blissful time it has been, one he never wanted to see end. But the gods always were fond of cruel gestures; they allow taste of sweetest ambrosia for but fleeting moment then piss upon you and laugh at the loss you are forced to bear.

"Agron..."

He's already lost too much. Life would mean nothing if Nasir were to be wrested from his arms. How could he make promise to live on without him there?

"Do not ask this of me. I belong to no one but you."

Shaking fingers rests upon cheek, tears further intensifying from barely there caress. Nasir is fading. No matter how strongly Agron denies reality, he knows such grievous wound can mean only death. He knows of this for Duro was wrenched away from brotherly embrace in same manner. Pain he never wanted to revisit again and yet here lay his love, dying.

"Spirit shall find no rest unless you… promise me that you will live."

_Do not look at me with such eyes. You know I am powerless against them_.

"I promise."

The lie sits heavily on cursed tongue. He knows he is not strong enough to live on his own.

A small, sad smile grazes Nasir's blood-stained mouth, the sign of inevitable parting.

"Stay with me." Agron pleads brokenly, cradling Nasir deeper onto himself, head resting upon mop of silken, dark tresses as body trembles violently at thought of losing him forever. Pulling back, he gazes down at him, captures soft lips against his, the taste of blood filling corners of mouth. "Do not fucking leave me behind. I cannot..."

The Syrian's face slackens into a state of calm. "To have loved… and be loved by you was… greatest of blessings. Know that… you are the one that will forever hold my heart." Deep, near-black orbs slip shut as breath of life takes its leave, taking Nasir with it, taking his very heart that still lay within chest. Arm falls to Nasir's side, body lax, limp and void of life.

Agron stares in crippling horror, shakes that small frame, kisses those lips, willing, wishing, hoping to breathe life back into his lungs. "No. No. No, no, no!"

Nasir remains unresponsive, steadily turning cold beneath hands. The distraught German screams and begs and pleads to all the gods. Do not take him yet. Do not fucking take him yet! But it gained him nothing but hoarse throat and continuously shattering heart.

The battle against Crassus' legions progressed in the background. Death and blood and tears lay amass across the landscape. It was the Roman's sword that was meant for Agron, yet Nasir saved him, placing self between enemy and lover. Much like dear brother had. Is this his life's curse? For loved ones to give their lives in favor of his own?

With one last parting kiss, one last caress upon heart's still frame, everything that followed after was nothing but a red haze of bloodlust and vengeance.

Memory fails him when wandering thoughts revisits that day. Nearly everything was painted in blood, though, first moment sanity returned, he recalls Crassus' corpse beneath him, severed in numerous places, torn flesh caked under fingernails where he clawed skin with bare fucking hands.

Overwhelming grief, fury, sadness and heartache was his only companion for the days that followed. He was a man possessed, a demon escaped from hell to rain suffering upon the earth. Wounds were inflicted upon already marred skin that could have killed even the strongest of men yet he remained standing. He was hellbent on vengeance with only Nasir's lifeless frame at the forefront of mind serving as fuel to raging fire within. Life matters not to him any longer. Nor Spartacus, nor the rebellion. Nothing.

Laeta once offered words of comfort stating she too knows of the pain for she lost a husband loved dearly. Agron lashed out at having woman indirectly place comparison between Nasir and shit of a husband, almost costing her life. Spartacus fell in quarrel with him. Second thoughts did not even enter mind as he left camp the next day, abandoning position by Spartacus' side. He became nothing more than a wanderer, killing Romans that strayed into his path. Nasir was no longer there to ground him. He no longer had a heart, only blood upon thoughts and it never shall cease to be so until death welcomes him to the afterlife, reunited with brother and lover once more.

Yet it would seem the gods rather favored pissing on him; so many times he welcomed death, and so many times he escapes fucking clutches, finding self in torturous existence with only but memory of loved ones for company each day that passeth.

* * *

Turquoise eyes flutter open at the sound of footfalls and the unmistakable cry of a boy. Agron rises quickly from his resting point, slowly creeping forward, mindful of every step so as not to make a sound. His gaze is alert, body thrumming with the promise of Roman blood upon gladius. He is already quite deep within the woods that it rather surprised him to come across Romans at such distance, away from the road. Thoughts of the rebels being pursued and near is immediately squashed from mind. It does not hold chance. He had made certain to be as far away from them as possible.

Agron anticipates the upcoming battle, wishing it were his last. He has been absent too long of Nasir's warmth. He longs for life to cease and take joy in fucking reunion. It was with this state upon mind that Agron lunges upon Roman soldiers, knowing not that soon, as the very last breath leaves mangled body from grievous injury, after saving life of young male child, that his life shall take the strangest of turns.

* * *

Agron wakes with hand upon searing chest, aching all over and a pained moan erupting from throat. Head throbs severely that first thought was to check if it gushed blood. He has a hazy memory of a fight with the Roman soldiers in the woods. Death had been so close then. But he lives. Anger lit his bleak heart aflame. Yet another day of torture spent in solitude. Another day without Duro and Nasir.

"Jupiter's cock. Haven't the gods had their fill yet of my suffering?"

Fingers rests upon cloth wrapped around temple, quick wonder dawning in as to whom tended to wounds, pulling him from edge. And where was the boy? Hand comes away without blood, though, dead heart began to pound at the sight meeting shocked gaze. Agron sat stock-still, wide-eyed. The forearm where the brotherhood's mark should have been stark contrast to golden skin stands missing. Equal dread and confusion creeps upon mind as Agron took stock of self and surroundings.

Whole torso is wrapped in clean bandages, the bed currently of use too soft to the touch. Silken sheets without a doubt. Lavish. Worth more coin than a hundred gladiator slaves combined. He looks down at self and is appalled at the presence of worn garments. Who placed upon him such expensive clothing? He struggles to get out of bed but fresh wounds prove to be worthy adversary. No matter. He isn't deterred from task. Agron manages to stand wobbly on both feet, hand gently pressing against chest. The room he is in, too fucking spacious for liking. It is almost like a Roman shit's–

"Dominus. You are awake."

Agron looks to the young slave boy by what he supposes was the entrance, alarmed gaze darting through corners, hoping to catch sight of said Dominus and end fucking life. He lays gaze of a small knife used for peeling fruit skins atop low table beside bed. He lunges for it, wild green eyes flickering from one corner to the other. Agron expects Roman soldiers to come bursting through doors. He will go down fighting, he thinks, bringing as many Romans as is possible to gates of Hades.

"I will have blood you fucking Roman cunts!"

He waits for the soldiers, gaze still searching for the resident Dominus. Yet nothing came. Agron feels winded from wounds while body is locked in tense fighting stance.

"You!"The German points at the now two slaves watching him in both confusion and fear, though the other was quickly instructing words to the slave girl.

"Fetch for the Medicus and Domina. I fear Dominus suffers worse head injury than anticipated."

The beginnings of exhaustion stirs within Agron as he becomes short of breath. He has yet to find this apparently injured Dominus.

The girl nods and removes self from sight in a heartbeat. Slave boy, possessing much courage despite threat of weapon in Agron's hand, steps forward and gently breaks words, likened to placating wild beast.

"Dominus, please. Be calm. You are not well. Place knife down and avoid causing further harm to self."

It is then that thought presents self to Agron. It is he the boy calls Dominus.

What? It does not hold fucking sense.

Mind unceremoniously makes different observation as Agron watches the boy's lithe grace. Dark skin, dark eyes and long inky black locks. Agron's breath catches harshly, leg threatening to give out at boy's familiar appearance and lilt of voice.

Syrian. So much like his little man. The pain of loss momentarily blindsides him from fucking vigilance. He crumples into self, tears spilling from grief-stricken eyes as broken sobs escape throat. Knees and weapon touches cold floor, clattering in its wake. Gentle hands rest upon shoulder, smooth fingers cradling face as chin is tilted. What little control Agron holds over excruciating emotions shatters with boy's visage so up close. The striking resemblance to lost love is a knife repeatedly lodged into heart and throat.

"Dominus, what ails heart that you are moved to immense tears?"

The name flows from mouth in a strangled whisper, causing for boy's eyes to widen and tense within hold.

"Nasir..."

Hands upon his body shook. A desperation so suddenly making appearance on the boy's features has Agron pulling back in the slightest wonder as voice nearly breaks in query.

"Dominus, please, I beg of you. How did you come upon this name?"

A conversation seemingly from a lifetime ago comes unbidden to Agron causing for own eyes to widen in remembrance. It makes a clear picture. The heritage, the resemblance, the boy would be the same age. Nasir's older brother of three years. Yet is it even a possibility?

"Amir?"

The thrusting of doors open causes conversation to an abrupt stop. The slave boy stands at once, though eyes betrays much needed words with Agron, an answer to desired question fulfilled, bowing to the Domina of the house, along with the Medicus trailing after her hurried strides.

"Julius, why is dear brother upon floor and appears as grieving widow? Did I not order to make certain he stays in bed and rested?"

"Apologies, Domina. Dominus..."

"I have not the time nor ear for excuses. Leave us. You are not needed."

"Yes, Domina."

The slave boy bows and scurries away. Before Agron has time to form words, the woman which he never expected to set eyes upon again cries out and opens arms wide in invitation.

"Father will be very pleased of your recovery. The gods truly smile upon you. I had thought you for the afterlife, brother."

Agron finds self engulfed in sickening embrace, of a body that should have lain dead a long, long time past. Bizarre experience causes fury to ignite within veins. How dare Roman bitch call him brother and embrace him as if they really were of same blood? And what of this place? This lavish clothing, the slaves, the very fact that the mark of the brotherhood is absent from fucking arm?

He was for dead, longing for sweet reunion with family and heart and yet here he is, in enemy territory, in enemy arms. What in fucking Mt. Olympus has happened to the world he's known? This is not his life. More so, he would rather die a thousand deaths than call cursed woman sister. Rage flames anew, an incensed tempest, cruel and unforgiving born of hateful emotions too fresh to be forgotten.

Fingers instantly curl around slender throat before anyone could so much as blink. Agron growls menacingly, taking pleasure in seeing fear flash across disgustingly fair face as helpless fingers tries to pry off own ones from crushing windpipe. Glaber's woman. Ilithyia.

"You were for the afterlife. What is your right to go about walking with air in lungs while people I hold close to heart lies fucking dead?!" Agron hisses, voice filled with venom as he squeezes tighter, the Medicus' pleas for him to let Roman wench go falling on deaf ears. Teeth bared, Agron's eyes glints, dark and dangerous like that of predator ready to pounce unsuspecting prey. "I am not your brother."

"Agronius. By the gods, has sense taken leave from fucking mind?!"

Agron much too suddenly finds cheek stinging from blow as he is forcibly thrown off Ilithyia's choking frame back to the confines of the bed. He feels presence hover from above yet couldn't find energy to so much as lift gaze. Head is ringing painfully from the unforeseen attack. He kneads heel of palm against eyes in hopes to fight off continuous spiral that is his sight. He feels fucking faint again, could feel wounds reopening from strain.

"My brother is not well. I... I do not think he is aware of actions being done."

"If Medicus had not called for aid and I had not intervened, you would be absent fucking life!"

The man's voice is familiar, yet mind is too ragged and pain clouds senses too much in finding name to fucking voice. Agron groans, sharp breathy gasps spilling from pale lips as unconsciousness tries to trap him within grasp. He feels betrayed, the one time he wishes to stay awake long enough to exact revenge, body deems it high time to not listen to power of thoughts.

"He is still beloved brother. It will break Father's heart to know further harm has fallen on only son. Spartacus continues to live and he is of enough stress as it is. Please, Agronius within right mind would never turn against dearest sister. You know of this."

Having the bitch plead for his life was making stomach turn despite darkness welcoming senses. What has happened to fucking world? And what of this name that keeps falling from cursed Roman lips? He does not understand.

"Did I not say that coming along to search in the mines is foolish task? Yet words were not heeded. Not from father born of blood nor from man considered second father-figure. He is not properly trained as soldier nor gladiator; pampered from time when he was but suckling babe, with nothing but wine and body slaves for company. What business does child have to come after Rebel leader?" A tired sigh escapes from unknown intruder, giving pause to reprimand. "It pains heart to see much similarities between Agronius and Tiberius. Children need learn to listen to orders and not defy fathers' wishes."

"Enough berating please," the woman pleads, displeasure evident in slight rise of voice. "Younger brother needs to rest. Go back to the party and I will tend to him."

"I do not think it wise..."

"Gratitude for concern. But we will be fine Crassus, really."

Hearing loathsome name swiftly causes for straining eyes to snap open, pulling awareness from darkness' embrace and back to malevolent pain of the living. Flashes of Nasir's death races through Agron's thoughts, last moments within loving arms replaying in vivid detail as deserted strength comes crashing back born of blustering emotions.

Marcus Crassus.

The man is fucking dead. Death delivered by very own hands. Yet he now finds self with man alive and still drawing breath?! Unfathomable rage swirls like fucking tempest from fucking core. He turns head and promptly feels as if fire is released from very pores as gaze sets upon cursed face. Agron's crazed-emerald eyes finds forgotten weapon upon cold floor. Nasir's voice comes unbidden in heart and mind. _Promise me_. Something in him snaps.

Agron sees nothing but red.

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TBC

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So, uhhh what did you guys think? Comments? Feedbacks? Violent reactions? O_O I'm in need of a serious beta reader.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Thanks so much for everyone that left comments and kudos on the previous chapter. I wasn't expecting to get readers at all, but I'm really happy I did ^_^)) And I do hope you guys stay with me in this crazy ride. Here's chapter 2 as promised. I'm not entirely happy with the chapter (mainly because I feel like... I don't know, it's just really hard writing with this kind of style _ I think I'm failing bad with this. I am, right? *sobs*) but I might still go through it in the future and do beta work. I am the queen of epic phail. Apologies.

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**Chapter 2**

Most of acquired strength just hours ago has abandoned exhausted body. Talks, whispers around him continue to set teeth on edge. Restrained he may be, he still actively listens to conversation as curses and insults fly from mouth. He growls, riled at fact Crassus stood stronger than he with current impaired state. How he would've enjoyed stabbing knife over and over against his throat.

After failed attempt at bastard's life, Agron was seized by several Roman soldiers and taken to the med bay. They set him down on soft mattress, binding wrists and ankles per Medicus' orders. Crassus, Ilithyia and a couple of Roman shits came along to witness the spectacle. News of his pursuit for Crassus' life apparently caused intrigue at the feast. Some of the faces are familiar, most he doesn't recall. Yet they seem to know him, or at the very least they are acquainted with this Agronius.

Bitter liquid is forced down throat. It is for calming nerves, the Medicus tells him. Drowsiness settles in soon yet he strives to stay vigilant, straining for every bit of information he can use to make sense of situation. Before long, breaking of words begins to shed some light.

Medicus explains to guests that nothing is wrong with him physically as wounds are healing well, though problem lies deeper. He speaks the possibility of unknown elements that might have been ingested in the woods or some form of poison entering bloodstream after having fallen in battle while pursuing Spartacus and his miscreants from a mission in the mines. At mention of once admired leader and rescue of female body slave condemned to that hellhole, Agron stills, disbelief grappling at senses because it cannot be.

The mines, Naevia, Spartacus and the rescue; all these things are already of the past.

Agron entertains thoughts of fevered dream; that this world he found himself in is but part of a nightmare. He wills self to wake, an affair that proves to be futile much to his chagrin. Wounds continue to cause agony. He doubts dreams could feel this real. So what does that leave him with? He does not know. He cannot think, cannot dare hope of what such knowledge means. Yet one thing is presented perfectly clear. He sees everyone as fucking enemy but they seem to consider him as family and friend.

He has no need of their pitying looks. Contempt is all he has for the lot of them for tearing away loved ones from amorous embrace.

Ilithyia's sobs pulls thought from resurfacing painful memories. He turns head and finds gaze locked with tear-filled ones. Ilithyia appears as if whole world has crashed down upon her. Agron supposes if he were to look at it in the whore's perspective, it can be pretty fucking upsetting. Surely it is not every day when someone you believe to be blood makes attempt on life and continues to vocally show great interest in seeing head ripped away from shoulders. Whatever misery she feels now, he hopes she fucking takes it even to the afterlife.

"How long will this hysteria enslave him? Is there not something you can administer? Some herb perhaps. Anything to rid of that crazed look in his eyes." Crassus thunders with barely restrained temper.

"Apologies, Praetor. Unless we know what has caused for behavior's rapid descent, we cannot cure such ailment. It all depends upon the young man's spirit now if he will succumb to the madness or not."

Ilithyia bawls like starving infant. "Will it cause death to dearest brother?"

"Apologies." Medicus replies, giving honest expectations. "At this time, we can but wait if it shall be so. I will not lie. It holds possibility."

Ilithyia lets out sorrowful wails, sways on her feet and crumples for the floor, fainted. Young boy breaks her fall, a face Agron itches to fucking grind beneath heel as much as dear fucking father. The German twists and thrashes, pulling restlessly on restraints keeping him prisoner. He remains snarling weakly, making use of what little sapped strength he has left.

"Sabinus, aid me in settling her down." Tiberius says, pleading eyes directed at friend.

Murky, green gaze darts from boy to man approaching whose attention is trained upon him. He bares teeth, fists clenching as if daring the cunt to come any closer. The worried frown marring Crassus' bruised face grudgingly reminds him of times when Vatir prayed vigil beside Duro's bed when brother had been gravely ill. He scolds self. It is a comparison that should not cross mind and yet, he cannot deny how Crassus appears as a father truly fretful for beloved son's welfare; emotions that are now misplaced upon him.

Mind cannot find reason as to how this dementia came about. He does not believe it real. Yet Crassus, Ilithyia, even the little shit Tiberius is there, refusing to disappear from fucking sight.

"You will be well again, Agronius. You will come out victorious from this." The boy tells him by the foot of the bed, disgustingly optimistic. "Won't he father?" Crassus doesn't break words, and instead removes self from bedside and confers back with the Medicus in a corner. "Father is infinitely disquieted with condition, Agronius." The boy says, sighing heavily. "As we all are. You have to fight this."

Tiberius does not dare stand near. Bound he may be, boy is smart enough not to risk distance. There is a betrayed look that has settled in his eyes however, surely from news of his endeavor to murder beloved father, yet he doesn't seem to place blame.

The little shit worries for Agron as a brother would. The absurdity of it causes for laughter to rumble out of chest. Tiberius Crassus was a boy their last encounter, before death took him in it's clutches by Kore's hands. Though young, defiance, pride and simmering anger had etched face, making illusion of a man. But now, he only appears soft, nothing more than hapless child.

"And once... I am strong enough to hold my own... in battle, it is yours... and your father's face I shall first seek... and make gladius slick with blood." Agron spits at him, chuckling in that gravelly voice and sounding as crazed as he appears. "Fucking... Roman cunt."

Tiberius withdraws, looking deliberately angered but more hurt. He seems to rein emotions in and squares shoulders. "You are unwell and have no control over what falls from lips. I will not hold such words against you, brother."

Agron grunts in response, exceedingly hateful of the continuous downward spiral of consciousness. He can no longer keep the weakness at bay as green eyes flutter open and close; the medicinal herbs administered not too long ago finally doing its work. He fights urge to embrace welcoming darkness, however he feels pliant, body begging mind to yield to deserved rest.

* * *

The next time eyes open, it is to the sensation of caress upon ribs. He feels the press of wet cloth against skin. He tilts head, sleep-clouded eyes looking up to familiar face in the low light. The smile comes naturally; twin indents upon cheek presenting boyish charm.

"Nasir." He says the name as he always has been, with every bit of love his heart holds for the Syrian. He takes his little man's grasp and proceeds to place softest of kisses upon each knuckle. He twines their fingers, rests their joined hands upon own chest and sighs, relieved, "I had the saddest of dreams. I had thought you lost forever from my arms." He breathes deep, eyes closing while nuzzling palm, tone taking on a teasing color, though genuine need for assurance heavily coats words. Agron does not want to remember fucking nightmare but be enveloped in Nasir's comforting warmth. "Won't you settle troubled heart with making passionate love?"

The Syrian chuckles and lovingly cuffs him in the head. "Bruised and worn from day's hunting and yet still of a mind for vigorous activities?" He feels lips press leisurely against his, a soft whine escaping throat as Nasir pulls away from within reach almost instantly. "Ah-ah. You need to rest, love. I fear dearest Duro will have my balls if I don't ensure thick-skulled brother sleeps."

Such statement about Duro causes for a sense of wrongness in his heart, yet mind cannot make connection as to what. He dismisses the thought, and grins in reply. "Brother would not dare lay a hand. He knows they are mine and mine alone." He laughs lightheartedly and wraps arms around the Syrian's waist, locking him in place atop chest.

Nasir rolls eyes affectionately and braces self on arms as gems dotingly rests upon him. "What am I to do with you, you great big oaf."

"Love me forever?" Agron replies cheekily, pecks him square on the mouth and changes position so it is he who is now gazing down at beloved face. He drinks in the sight of him, praising all the gods for granting freedom with brother and lover back in his homeland.

"You need not ask. You know ceasing to love you would be ceasing to live."

Agron is sure if he were to be any happier as he is at that moment, he would be floating on air.

Nasir smiles as hands roughened by life lived at war cradles face, capturing lips in heated kiss. Agron releases pleased moan, eyes slipping shut as he reciprocates. He urges Nasir to part lips with nudging of tongue which lover does so eagerly.

Desire heightens with deepening contact, as lips hungrily seeks lips; bodies beginning to writhe and gyrate. Nasir's thighs open in invitation, Agron filling that miniscule gap between them as he presses self down. Hardened flesh meet causing for abrupt gasps spilling from mouth; jolts of pleasure coursing through spine. The German groans as Nasir's wandering fingers find purchase on his cock, stroking with just the right pressure that threatens to drive mind mad with lust. "Nasir..."

"Hush, love. Let me take care of you."

Agron yields and soon enough, clothes are shed and they lay naked atop bed as Nasir's fingers, tongue and lips worship every inch of heated skin. When they finally joined, as cock is encased around Nasir's gripping, hot walls, Agron moans long and loud, mouth parting in a wordless cry as staggering pleasure threatens to push him to brink of release. Blunt fingernails dig into Nasir's creamy thighs; the Syrian replying in kind with a twist of hips. Agron howls, sobbing low in throat from so much fucking pleasure.

Nasir trembles above him, cherry lips parted in panting as a thin sheen of sweat adorns golden dark skin. Cheeks are painted a lovely shade of red. The look in his eyes; pupils are blown with desire that they almost appear cat-like; wide and smoldering filled with unrestrained love and lust. It is a fucking sight to behold, one that never fails to amaze Agron of just how ethereal and beautiful his heart truly is when lost in a tide of pleasure while held in lover's arms.

They find a rhythm not long after, Agron thrusting up into that slick grip as Nasir grinds against him, lifting hips until it reaches head of Agron's cock only to come bearing down and engulfing flushed, straining length, resulting in twin moans erupting from seizing chests. Agron feels familiar pressure in belly as movements becomes more and more erratic. They writhe, they kiss, and they fuck; fingers twining into each other's hair, mere inches separating lips as they gasp into each other's mouth, declarations of love exchanged.

"Agron… fuck." Nasir whimpers as he rides him, control slipping.

The German understands what beloved yearns for; so clear in the depths of his charcoal gaze. He grabs Nasir, rolls him over and begins to fuck him relentless to the bed. Nasir's moans rise in volume, transforming to honest, pleasure-filled cries. Agron feels Nasir's thighs flexing tightly around hips, fingernails without a doubt leaving marks on shoulders. Nasir unabashedly begs for more, for Agron to fuck him harder, deeper, faster. He curses in Agron's mother tongue and by the gods, hearing German words escape love's lips at intense height of pleasure is enough to drive him over the edge.

He drills into him with purpose, hand taking hold of Nasir's leaking length between their bellies and stroking him with as much fervor as he does with his fucking. Lips crash into each other, muffling groans as tongues battle. "Together now." Agron urges and promptly chokes on a moan, feels orgasm wash through him like crashing waves as Nasir tightens around cock. Heat shoots out of angry, dripping flesh, painting the Syrian's walls with thick ribbons of seed as Agron feels mutual stickiness coating pumping hand. He hears Nasir mewl, watches while he throws head back, exposing tempting throat as body convulses with the force of his release.

Nasir slumps spent on bed as Agron's exhausted body descends upon his little man. He buries face into his smooth, damp neck, trying to regulate breathing back to normal pace. Eventually, Agron gently pulls out of pleasant heat and carefully tucks Nasir's worn-out frame against chest. The Syrian drapes self within safe, loving arms and purrs his agreement for cuddling. Agron chuckles, finding this side of his lover absolutely endearing. He kisses Nasir's forehead and closes eyes for much needed sleep.

Later, he is driven from satiated slumber to sudden chill blanketing frame.

Agron opens eyes, wonders what could have caused such a drop in temperature at such short a time. He looks down at love's prone form and instantly feels heart cease to beat at sight meeting gaze.

No, no, no, no, no. No!

* * *

"Agronius, wake up. Wake up!"

Agron surfaces to consciousness screaming and crying Nasir's name, pleading for him to open fucking eyes and draw breath. The image of him, bloodied and broken, cold and void of life in his arms doesn't cease from replaying within mind. Memories of earlier days come unbidden, of the final battle against Crassus, Nasir's death, his days of being wandering avenger. Agron weeps at fucking reality.

He feels most unwelcome hands upon him, telling him to find sense and calm down. He sees the crest on their uniforms, recalling he is in company of Romans and fucking looses all thread of sanity. With surprising strength, he shakes loose of the binds and pulls sword from soldier's possession. It takes him but a single second to strike sharp blade through man's mouth, robbing him of life.

"Fuck the gods!" One soldier shrieks in fear at seeing fallen comrade. "Call for the Praetor. Madness has completely seized mind of Senator's son! Dispatch more soldiers—"

Words cease to pour from fucking mouth as Agron parts Roman cunt's head with the rest of him. He frees self completely; aims for the next soldier's heart, and the next and the next like savage, untamed beast.

Agron wields twin blades in each hand, eyes locked in permanent rage as if possessed by legions of Hades. He leaves the room he is in, turning corners as he seeks to spill more blood. Grief makes him blind to everything else, though at sound of laughter reaching ears he follows despicable voices. He recalls a feast. Wolf-like grin spreads upon face as he nears noise of merriment.

Nasir would smile at him in the afterlife.

However, before he can make approach, soldiers blocks path, surrounding him in all directions. Agron snarls, cursing each Roman fuck in his mother tongue. He is near to his prize, can hear the infuriating voices of Rome's high society citizens flowing to ears.

_"By the gods, is that not sweet Agronius?"_

_"Why is he covered in blood?"_

_"Did you not hear? He is ill."_

_"They had him bound to his bed just earlier this day for attempting to take Marcus Crassus' life."_

_"Surely that cannot be true! Agronius treats Marcus like second father."_

_"So that explains why Crassus left in a hurry_."

Giggles.

_"I heard he even made attempt on sister. Poor woman is distraught."_

Gasps.

_"Is that reason why Ilithyia is not among us?"_

The soldiers make their move. Twenty to one. Hardly a fair fight though Agron did more damage before he is overpowered by numbers. It took minutes before weapons were seized and had arms twisted behind back to bind him yet again. This time, with chains. Agron is pushed to the floor face first, a pained cry stealing away breath as wounds are aggravated, reopening for what seems like the hundredth time.

He continues to struggle against their stronghold, unknowingly yelling promises of death in native language. He is struck in the face by one of the soldiers. Agron's vision swims, dazed and unfocused yet still tries to attack Roman cunt with bare fucking teeth, which the German succeeds in doing so. Blood spurts from arm where he bit and pierced flesh. Agron spits out torn skin and laughs maniacally, glaring, willing soldier to drop dead through sheer gaze alone.

"He bit me! The fucking animal bit me!"

"Seize tongue or it's your head on a pike! That is my son you dare throw insults at!"

The hall falls into silence as Senator Albinius quickly approaches. Behind him is Ilythia who is accompanied by husband and house slaves. Even through degraded position on cold floor, and pain dulling senses, Agron's gaze cannot help but seek out for the young dark-skinned Syrian boy.

"Agronius!" Ilithyia's shrill voice torments eardrums. Agron watches as she makes hurried steps toward him yet Glaber pulls her at last minute before she gets too close.

"He is dangerous."

"He still remains my brother, Gaius."

Glaber shakes his head and steers her further away. Agron snarls yet again, laying sight at despised face. He is surrounded by Romans who should be fucking dead while he is absent of fucking treasured heart. What has he done in life that the gods seem it just to punish him so?

"Take him back to the healing room and tell Medicus to give salve to cause slumber." The Senator instructs, grim gaze landing upon him. The look in his eyes seem to speak of battling emotions between needing to aid son back to his feet and protect him from the world or flee, as far away as he could if only to never see the heartbreaking sight of his darling boy succumbing to madness ever again. Agron sneers, showing teeth tainted in blood as he growls. The Senator's expression falls apart.

"Senator, he killed five guards in the sick bay. The slaves are still mopping blood from the floors and walls." One of the soldiers informs, disdain mixed with wariness of Agron in voice.

"Then take him to his room, secure him to bed and lock fucking doors." Pale blue, aged eyes are suspiciously wet and glistening of repressed tears. He draws a deep steadying breath. Albinius sounds a man bitter and defeated. "Our healers has revealed that if dear Agronius does not regain sense until the next sunrise, then he is lost to us."

"What will that mean for Agronius, father?" Ilithyia asks, dread and worry upon her fair, tear-stained face.

Albinius cannot meet daughter's gaze and Agron fucking understands, it dawns on him of what is to be done. He laughs and laughs, and laughs because finally, sweet death is soon to be his.

Ilithyia's protests fill the hall as he is slowly dragged away. The fight has left his body and Agron is merely satisfied at waiting for his execution. His existence has been long overdue and surely, Duro and Nasir has gotten impatient waiting for him in the afterlife. He laughs weakly, thinking of their annoyed faces upon his arrival.

They turn a corner and he is none-too gently jostled as they walk. He can feel hatred radiating off the soldiers accompanying him. He wonders if he killed a brother or a lover amongst the ones he robbed of breath. The thought pleases Agron immensely. Let them taste what it is like to have heart ripped out from chest while it still beat.

Agron's shoulder slump. He is tired, so fucking drained of having to live life alone.

"Keep pace, you worthless worms."

The familiar acrid manner that Romans address slaves and prisoners falls on Agron's ears causing for him to lift gaze and find source of voice. He thinks he may yet be able to slit the cunt's throat; his one last kill before death claims him as well. The German grins at thought. But alas, arms are bound behind back. It is useless attempt.

"Move along. Do not dawdle." The guard beside him commands. Agron cranes neck and snaps teeth at him causing for man to shriek indignantly and make certain there is enough fucking distance between amuses Agron so. He snickers at fearful look on Roman shit's face. He laughs, but sound seizes throat as gaze catches sight of the line of bound men moving their way.

Agron's steps falter to an abrupt halt as eyes takes in the impossible sight of the first man in line, whole world narrowing to nothing but his face. A little older, hardened and seemingly wiser from last he laid eyes on him. It is a face that he knows too well and will never forget despite the years he has been wrested from embrace. Agron feels self tremble, breath coming in ragged gasps from the shock of sudden encounter. He is alive and breathing, glaring cold, dark eyes at captors despite chained state.

He is flesh and blood, cherished and sorely missed brother.

_Duro._

* * *

Notes: Ohohohohohoho. Yeah, okay. *coughs* Thoughts? Comments? It would make me very happy 333 Ack. Nasir makes his appearance in the next chapter. Do not kill me _ Unbeta'd so any grammatical and spelling errors are all my fault.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It is to the feel of cloth slipping over mouth and of rough, demanding hands descending upon shoulders that causes Agron to come back to self. He falls to his knees; wide, disbelieving eyes trained on beloved brother whilst struggling to twist away from arms holding him down. An enraged growl rises from throat as soon as he is gagged, bunched-up cloth forced between clenched teeth, tightening knot around nape. He is taken away speech, as well as chance to cause soldiers further harm through fierce bite. Roman cunt seemingly not satisfied with current position proceeds to strike sword handle to Agron's bandaged head. He sags to floor, groaning in pain as sight once again turns into a mess of blur.

"You fuck! Do you wish for more death to fall upon your house?"

"My brother is dead because of this spoiled, arrogant shit!"

"So will the rest of your family if news of you deliberately harming Senator Albinius' son reaches father's ears. Control self and see to task."

Agron attempts to lift gaze and regrets it the second he is able. It feels as if head is repeatedly smashed against hard, fucking rock. Yet despite the excruciating agony, he still searches for Duro's face. Tears sting bloodshot green-red orbs as soon as he finds dark eyes watching him while the captured men pass.

He sees Crixus, Rhaskos, even Onemaeus and two more that memory fails to give name to. But they do not matter. Not at that moment at least. His brother is alive. That is all he can think about. Agron knows not why he still draws breath, but he is not one to question miracle.

Brother's name falls from lips, yet all that comes out are muffled words much to Agron's added fury. The German is pulled to his feet once again. He protests, growling and kicking; trying to escape fucking hold but to no avail. He is outnumbered, bound and gagged, and can only fight for but few moments. Though spirit is more than willing, the flesh proves already too weak, too abused to be set to purpose.

"Stop your staring and move quickly!" A soldier among the ones guarding the prisoners bark. Agron seethes, watching as Duro is struck in the face after mouthing off Roman scum.

_Remove fucking hand from my brother you fucking Roman shit!_

Body could no longer shoulder it's own weight, yet Agron's growls continue to rise as distance between them grows with each step. Not before long, he is brought to the room where he woke that morning. The bed is already made when they arrived, reinforced restraints locking around wrists, ankles, chest and hips as soon as he is set upon mattress. Medicus removes gag for a moment, at the ready to administer sleeping draught. Agron refuses, clamping mouth shut but is defeated in mere seconds. He tries to spit out substance yet can feel more of it spilling down throat under the Medicus' unrelenting ministrations. He resorts to desperately scream out Duro's name in dire need to stay awake.

"When will he stop bleating like fucking goat?"

"Give it time." the Medicus answers, addressing soldier giving voice as he applies soothing balm to reopened wounds upon Agron's body, dismissing foreign words coming from mouth as part of hysteria. "Slumber shall soon be his. Though mind appears to be in great distress, body is absent strength to continue the fight."

It does not take long before Agron feels the familiar pull of forced lethargy; his screams decreasing to soft, broken cries. He has to rescue dearest brother and escape this cursed place; it is only mantra occupying thoughts.

He comes in and out of consciousness while soldiers huddle and talk a short distance away. They await for the Medicus to finish and see task accomplished. As soon as Medicus is done, they are to leave, secure the room, then stand outside to keep watch.

As they break words, conversation turns toward questions of what Agron's fate come morning may be if the madness does not cease. Roman fucks place bets on whether he shall be sent away to that desolate place where mad men were to be imprisoned until their dying days, or perhaps the Senator would rather prefer son's misery end as early as can be. Surely, death would be a kinder fate than to live life enslaved by own mind.

As soon as fogged mind registers what meaning words carry, unimaginable fear grips Agron's entire being.

Death, now that he knows of Duro's breathing and living state terrifies him like no other. He cannot be for the afterlife while brother is within enemy hands. Agron's chest pounds with hope at next thought coming to mind. And if Duro lives, does it hold same meaning for his heart?

Could his little man be alive? Did Spartacus took the same path that led them to the villa in the south where his Syrian had been enslaved? Is he with the rebellion? Is he among the search party set for Naevia's rescue? Did he get wounded in the endeavor? Does brother and lover know each other? So many questions are suddenly in need of answers yet as much as Agron struggles to stay awake long enough to ponder on newly discovered possibilities, darkness is relentless and finally consumes waking world.

* * *

Agron wakes and is startled upon feeling movements restricted. He lifts head and looks down, groaning in frustration as memories of the day before flood back in, crushing the perpetual hope that he is simply trapped in a nightmare. He jolts upon recalling brother's capture along with promise of Nasir yet among the living. It continues to baffle fucking sense how he came to be of Roman status in this strange world, yet with hope of being reunited with loved ones, it is more than enough to divert intent from blood and death; not only to despised enemy but as well as to his own. For the sake of Duro's safety and chance to be within Nasir's loving arms once again, Agron finally grasps realization that he cannot risk lashing out recklessly no more. He needs to take pause and consider time to think.

Searching, green gaze sweeps around the room. He is pleased to find self alone in the silence, providing ample time to plot and scheme, to come away with strategy worthy of admired leader's pride. It weighs heavy on the heart knowing that while he is devising plan, Duro suffers somewhere within these Roman walls. Despite fact that he has abandoned faith a long time ago, he begs the gods to keep him safe, if only for the slim hope that the cruel shits may yet know the meaning of mercy.

The conversation about the mines that morning race through thoughts. He stares at ceiling, thinking. Isn't this of a similarity of the time when Crixus and Rhaskos were to be executed at the arena the next day when sun sets? He does not think it the past. It cannot be for Duro had been struck down at Batiatus' ludus, months before the planned rescue for Naevia came to fruition. And he remembers Acer among the ones captured, yet when he laid sight of them, there was Crixus and Rhaskos but there is two he does not recall; and dear brother is among their numbers.

It is of same situation to one he's known but details seem to differ, the biggest yet his own existence. He is not of Roman blood, but is surrounded by people that consider him as such. Even the young man that he wagers to be Nasir's brother call him Dominus.

He swears he will find answers, but for now there are more pressing concerns that needs to be addressed; to ensure Duro's safety and find his beautiful Syrian. Ideas brewing inside head makes stomach turn as it goes against every fucking principle he upholds in life, but given situation, Agron has to reluctantly accept choice is removed from hand.

It is nearly an hour past when attention is drawn to the sound of approaching footfalls and grating Roman voices. With heart intent upon new task, Agron forces body to relax as he fakes slumber and sets plan into motion.

* * *

They enter his quarters preparing for the worst only to find him silent and subdued, no trace of the savage beast he was the previous day. Agron turns head, a small grimace of a smile quirking corners of mouth, eyes half close and seemingly caught between wakefulness and dreams. The moment he calls out for Ilithyia, reluctantly addressing her as sister, and appearing as vulnerable as can be, the woman easily breaks into tears.

"Why do you shed tear?" he asks weakly, attempting to reach out for her. Agron fakes surprise upon finding self bound, half-lidded gaze resting upon Senator Albinius, lost expression marring features. "Why am I a prisoner in my own bed, father?"

Hearing cherished endearment fall from son's mouth melts the elderly man's guarded gaze. He quickly orders two soldiers to free Agron. He is gently pulled upright, hands rubbing bruised wrists. He feels fingers cradle his face and could not help but shudder at unwelcome sensation.

"The gods answer my prayers. They return you to us."

Albinius does not waste time to gather him into fatherly embrace while Ilithyia wraps delicate arms around shoulders from behind, quietly sobbing in relief. Agron bites inside of cheek enough to draw blood, forcing self to not jerk away from Roman grasp. They fucking make his skin crawl and he wants nothing more than to see blood spilled. Agron almost ceases his playacting; but he refrains self. Causing them harm no longer holds much value now that he is on a mission.

Albinius withdraws and instructs guard to call for the Medicus, before turning to his beloved son and kissing cheek. Agron fights urge to wipe cursed spot upon skin. He carries on pretending as if he has yet to fully grasp validity of surroundings. He rests hand upon forehead and the other upon rib, groaning in pain. "What happened?"

"Oh my poor boy." Albinius exclaims, tears misting gaze as he holds Agron's hand. "Have I not assured enough that there is no need to prove your worth? I only need you to be safe. You are no soldier. You cannot fight those beasts and yet you went against my wishes and came along to search in the mines almost costing life." he pauses a moment, pressing lips to knuckles. "Please Agronius, promise to never cause loving father and sister such fright again."

Agron has already placed thought that there may be a need to pretend gaps in memory exist due to injury. He only knows a few of these shits and does not want to risk meeting anyone he cannot give name to, causing doubt. And so in response, he directs the Senator the blankest of expressions. "I'm afraid I do not.. understand the meaning to words, father. What purpose did I have in the mines?"

Albinius' brows furrow in renewed concern as he looks into his green gaze, searching. "Do you not remember?"

Agron shakes his head, appearing utterly confused. "Remember what?"

"You went with Gaius' men to the mines of Lucana when he received word that it is where Spartacus is headed, brother."

He cranes neck to look at Roman woman as she slowly moves before him. Agron nearly vaults as she peers into his face, too fucking close for comfort, imploring sky blue eyes locking upon his own.

"Despite father's command not to go, you could not be swayed, promising to bring Spartacus beneath heel. But you were brought back, bathed in own blood, so far removed from envisioned victory. And when we thought the worst has come to pass, you... you..." she trails off at reminder of painful encounter, face crumpling into that of sorrow. Ilithyia throws arms around his large frame and sobs against neck.

It strikes Agron then at that moment that he is genuinely unprepared how to place reaction upon such display. His arms remain by his side, unsure of what to do with them and starts to question fucking plan. The baffled, perplexed and horrified emotions warring inside chest must show on his face because Albinius was instantly on his feet, meeting the Medicus as he enters and voices out concern.

"Something is not right." Albinius cries out, gaze snapping back to Agron's wide, alarmed ones. Agron curses inwardly. This man is a father and surely as such he must know that Agron is not his blood. Agron braces self to be ready for battle if situation calls for it. Ilithyia is within arms and he will snap neck in a heartbeat if need be. Yet the next words coming from the Senator's mouth causes for fraying nerves to subside. He is not found out. Albinius simply makes know his worry as to how memory seems to fail son.

Ilithyia releases him, hastily wiping tears from eyes as Medicus approach. He faces Agron and begins to poke and prod the German, asking questions; if he was hurting severely anywhere in particular, or what his last memory was. Agron mentions a continuous pounding headache and answers, in a low voice that his last memory was of talking with sister, though he cannot recall what conversation centered upon. They mention names of his Roman acquaintances, of family friends. Agron can only but identify three. Claudius Glaber, Marcus Crassus and son, Tiberius.

Medicus explains a while later that Agronius, due to heavy blow taken to head now suffers from it. They ask how long it will last, and receives reply that it cannot be determined as of yet if Agronius will regain lost memory, which seems to be nearly everything in the young man's life.

"He only remembers family and ones he considers as such. I recommend for him to always be surrounded by loved ones as to aid in regaining what he lost. It is not guaranteed cure, though it is an approach that may yet prove to be useful. If Agronius is to be with people he holds close to heart, it may just be a cause to trigger returning memories."

The Senator and the Medicus break words while Agron is left hunched over on the bed, head lowered as he stares at clenching and unclenching hands. It takes a little getting used to, the fact that marks left by nail of the cross is no longer upon skin. He can now grasp sword without difficulty, competence proven by fact he swiftly killed Romans not with treasured weapon forged by loving hands. It is a strange sensation to not have Nasir's weapon upon arm, for hand to be able to close around sword handle instead of shield's grip. There is no trace of the pain and humiliation he endured at the cross upon flesh, yet the memory shall remain to haunt him forever.

He feels bed dip with weight and cocks head, his sight flooding with Ilithyia's solemn, smiling face. She rests fingers upon his arm, then proceeds to gently push self into his embrace, head resting lightly upon chest. She does not break words, merely satisfied to be so close to most loved brother. Agron fucking needs to hasten plan. He does not think he can take more of Ilithyia's behavior. Her actions remind him of his own love for Duro, and it makes him spitting mad that he yet has to lay gaze on younger brother.

"They will pay for what they have done to you, Agronius." Ilithyia murmurs, hatred evident in voice. "I will take pleasure in seeing them lose their lives at the arena today like the worthless animals they truly are."

Agron freezes from mention of the arena. He pries Ilithyia off, demanding answers. "Do you speak of the rebels? Of the ones captured, how many do yet live?" The memory of Crixus telling them of what the fucks had done to Acer fills him with renewed rage and terror for brother's life.

Ilithyia blinks, grimacing at the feel of fingernails digging into arms. Noticing the half-frightened look flashing in the woman's eyes, Agron quickly rectifies situation. "Apologies, sister." he says, and reluctantly tries to soothe bruising skin as he forces to calm self down.

"I.. I understand, Agronious. You need not apologize." Ilithyia replies as she collects composure. "I can only but imagine how much you yearn to end them by own hands, to take vengeance of what they have done."

"Do they all still draw breath?" Agron asks, needing fucking assurance that the situation is indeed so.

"Last night at the feast arranged to ease citizenry's troubled thoughts and also in honor of Varinius as valued guest, he is a good friend of yours if you must know, Gaius offered the man chance at execution of rebels by own hands." she takes pause as Agron turns cold, heart crushing within chest with what implication words bring.

Duro, could Duro be? No, he refuses to believe that brother no longer lives even before he could attempt rescue.

"Yet Varinius refused, saying that he will not rob the city of deserved pleasures; that the slaves should die at the arena before all of Capua and in doing so in wait, we may yet find you regained right mind and sit among us at the pulvinus. A kind thought well received by all especially after having witnessed your rapid descent into madness. Despite Medicus' findings, Varinius held faith that you will return to us. And he is right to place it." she gazes up and caresses cheek, a smile present upon lips. "Varinius has promised to honor efforts and recovery upon the arena today."

Relief crashes over Agron upon words, releasing breath he did not realize holding. Duro yet lives and along with it chance to be seen to safety. He is now perceived of high Roman status is he not? Beloved son to a senator. Favored to his knowledge at least by three Praetors, Crassus, Glaber and this man called Varinius. Surely, there is weight to the name he now carries, and Agron shall use it to his fucking advantage.

* * *

It is no easy feat to stay hand with enemy so unguarded and close, yet until he is able to see Duro to safety, he knows deceit is his best approach. Especially now that plan did not turn out as expected. He asked to lay gaze upon rebels that caused his apparently near untimely demise only to be told that they had been carted to the arena upon first light. Agron nearly lost composure, had to take steadying deep breaths to keep from lashing out in anger. He is removed choice, has to wait until Albinius and Ilithyia are to leave for the arena later in the day.

While at wait, the German is fed and bathed, rested and is allowed to loiter through the halls with guards shadowing every movement much to his displeasure. It is a bit of a shock to realize he is in Batiatus' villa, a place he has wiped from memory for all the pain it caused. Feet carried him to the viewing perch where Roman shits usually stood audience. He looks to the sands below, now void of the brotherhood and crawling with Roman scum. Agron shudders at reminder of slavery; to be dependent on the whims of the masters and having no control over what happens to own life.

It breaks heart to think Duro had been under this roof without brother by his side. Though his absence may have done him more good than bad. Agron does not exist in Duro's life in this world. He was not there to always act as protector, holding him back from truly finding his worth. Most of all, Agron has every reason to believe that he is alive because he was not there for Duro to save from Roman sword.

He turns away from the sight of the sands as female slave makes presence known. Head seemingly in eternal downcast position, she meekly tells him of father and sister awaiting in the carriage. Agron nods, and is about to leave but remembers something of great importance. He makes certain voice is low enough and asks for his body slave's whereabouts.

"Apologies, Dominus. I have not laid eyes upon Julius since yesterday."

The Syrian's absence even to fellow slaves cause a great disquiet inside Agron. He understands that there might have been a need to keep him away when everyone thought Agron mad. But he has already shown to be of right mind yet the young man has yet to make appearance. Thinking back to their first encounter, Amir showed a great desperation to know as to how Agron came upon Nasir's name. Someone needing answers will not disappear so easily, and when he asked Ilithyia and Albinius earlier for his body slave, they cannot seem to give him a reply to query as well.

Something has happened to Amir and no one is breaking words upon subject.

It is with frustration and a heavy heart that he comes to the arena, feeling gut-wrenching dread creeping up spine. They march up to the pulvinus, taking seat between assumed father and sister. There are others there as well, people he does not know that Ilithyia begins to make introductions to. Varinius is given name and he all too swiftly found lips pressing against own causing for Agron to nearly rip bastard's fucking throat.

"It lifts heart to have you within arms once again." Varinius says, and has to awkwardly clear throat as Agron keeps with his silent, intense staring. "Apologies. Heart is moved with joy upon laying sight at beloved's face that mind momentarily forgot sister's words as to current condition."

"I am certain dearest Agronius will remember in time Varinius. You are his heart, he has sworn to me in more than one occassion. Give him space to adjust for now." Ilithyia gently coaxes the fair haired, handsome shit and moves forward to introduce the rest.

Agron is silent as a lamb, absent words escaping mouth as they mostly marvel in fascination upon witnessing his savage display at the feast when Ilithyia gave names. Cossotius, having not a bone of shame makes remark of how his fierceness stirred cock. If glares could kill, the fucking shit would be a puddle of blood staining marble floor, one born of Agron, and the other of Varinius.

"Oh what dour fate, to have such handsome men within close reach and yet having no chance to wed either." Seppia exclaims her grievance to all who would hear, pouting and whining like the spoiled, little rich girl she is.

Ilithyia chuckles. "Still attempting to lure brother and soon to be in-law with charms when we all know interests do not lie in what you can offer."

"And yet you spoke of lost memories. I may yet have chance to win desired affections." Seppia giggles, causing for Seppius to roll eyes and Varinius' lips to purse with presented thought.

"You press fortune dear sister, to boldly voice intentions upon Agronius with lover in hearing distance."

"Divert fucking thought upon subject." Agron grumbles as he rights self in his chair, causing conversation to cease.

"Now you have upset him."

It is taking all of self control to not strike sword to every fucking shit surrounding him. Even Lucretia, his former Domina is present making his insides thrum with strongest urge to give in to the call of bloodlust. He manages to calm down, moments after reminding self he has a task to fulfill. Agron looks to the center of the arena. There is no wonder or awe in being able to sit in such high place, though ability to sweep gaze across the entirety of it proves much helpful, if one knows what to search for.

He has great faith that Spartacus, whichever world he hails would never abandon fallen comrade if there yet stands hope of them alive.

Anxiety fills heart. The stupid fucking Senator would not be pursuaded to release one man to be rewarded to Agron so he can exact revenge no matter what form he wishes to deliver death. They argued on the way, Agron voicing out his need to torture the chosen fuck in private, in his own leisure to satiate desire for vengeance. But Albinius would not allow him the luxury, saying he cannot risk safety in the presence of such beasts again, even casting his displeasure of Glaber for letting him join his ranks when he is aware all along that brother-in-law is no trained fighter.

And so now Agron is left with no other choice but to place faith in admired leader or shed the deceit and rush to brother's aid the moment he is certain no help shall come. He would have entertained thought to use status to help the rebellion through his Roman guise. Fact that Glaber and Crassus is within fuckin grasp; their early deaths should ensure victory for Spartacus, sparing many innocent lives devoted to the cause. Yet it is brother's life that hangs in the balance at that very moment. He cannot simply stand idle and lose him the second time.

Varinius as editor of the games makes speech soon after, quickly gaining the hearts of the crowd with his promises of the rebellion's proper end and some such nonsense that Agron has no desire to hear. Just as Ilithyia had spoken, Varinius made mention of his name, honoring efforts and praising gods for sparing his life, claiming that he is blessed by the divine. They all expect him to show appreciation or at the very least the slightest brightening of mood, yet he remains unmoved, mind too taken with plotting escape plan if Spartacus do not arrive for expected rescue.

Varinius commands for the games to begin. Agron becomes exceedingly uncomfortable with each fucking minute as the cursed event progresses while the rest make awed sounds and gestures around him. The pairing of gladiators as fellow slaves and brothers butcher each other upon the sands for believed glory and honor that holds no meaning causes for bile to rise up throat.

"Does it not please you brother?" Ilithyia inquires, hand resting upon forearm. "I had thought the games may bring joy and lift dampened spirits."

"I am merely displeased that father would not grant request and thus cannot find it in heart to enjoy what is being offered." Agron responds quickly, hoping that Albinius may yet find fucking cause to appease son's thunderous mood upon hearing words. "It is but small request!"

"This again? Cannot you be satisfied knowing they will die nevertheless?"

"Not if death is not delivered by own hands." Agron answers in barely controlled temper causing for Ilithyia to pull away, startled. Heads turn as curious eyes watch. "And you both have yet to reveal what has happened to favored body slave. I feel fucking blind and helpless and it is not an emotion I am too pleased to find self trapped within."

"Brother.." Ilithyia starts but is cut off my Alibinius' weary voice.

"Julius was caught trying to free one of the captured slaves. One that is severely wounded and was put in a seperate cell from the gladiators."

Words sieze tongue as he grapples for sense. Amir was aware that Agron for some reason is acquainted with Nasir, his eyes begging much needed words. Why would he do something so foolish with the promise of learning if brother yet lives? "Lies. Why would he do such a thing?"

Ilithyia heavily sighs as if she almost feels sorry for a common slave. "The one that is so grievously wounded is of Julius' blood. His long lost brother is part of the rebellion Agronius and he almost set him free, and for that they are to be executed as example before the primus begins."

Agron's whole fucking world collapses. He falls back against seat, hand clutching chest, struggling for air to enter lungs.

"Agronius, what is happening? You are turning pale as death." Ilithyia cries out, anxiously checking for what causes deteriorating color.

Varinius sets worried gaze upon him. "It seems it is too early to be up and walking about. He yet needs to rest longer."

"Where are they?" Agron rasps despite violently shaking frame and voice. His heart yet lives and is reunited with dearest brother only to live for but a few hours more. He has to find them before the execution. If Spartacus were to arrive, it would be too late for Nasir. He recalls Rhaskos dying mere seconds before the arena burned to the ground. He cannot let Nasir share same fate. And is he not supposed to be safe in Vesuvius? In the life he's lived, Nasir had been wounded but Spartacus made certain to not leave him behind. Yet here, not only is Nasir in fucking enemy hands, he is grievously injured as well, allowed to live long enough to be executed before Roman shits. "Where are they?!" Agron thunders, pulling self upright as fingernails dig into Ilithyia's thin arms again. "Find fucking voice!"

"Why do you act as if he is of importance?!" Ilithyia yells in retort, appearing increasingly distressed. "He is nothing but a slave!"

Agron's desperate gaze sweeps from one alarmed, concerned eyes to the other. Albinius attempts to lay hand upon him but Agron jerks away from grasp as he retraces pace, needing more than ever to be rid of their presence. He feels trapped, cornered. His back makes solid connection with Varinius' body. The German whirls around and frantically pushes self away from man's reach. He sees Glaber tilt his head towards the soldiers, undoubtedly motioning them to restrain him if need be. Agron lets out furious growl and turns away, making haste for the steps with the soldiers coming after his retreating form; Ilithyia and the rest of the Roman shits' calls for him to return falling on deaf ears.

* * *

TBC

**A/N:** Not really happy with the chapter, and I promised Nasir would actually make appearance here but uhh, had to lay out the ground work first or something. He gets mentioned though. LOL. Please be patient my dear readers. And no, I am not a closet Varinius/Agronius shipper _ That's effed up man. Next chapter, REUNION! Hell yeah! Comments and feedbacks are so fucking appreciated 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The sight of blood staining the dark underground maze and the stench of death permeating the air as always leaves nothing to be desired.

Agron skids to a halt and quickly turns a corner, panting and resting one hand against throbbing middle. He flattens back against a wall, hiding as soldiers ordered to retrieve him rush past. He inwardly curses and winces, feeling thick dampness soak through expensive garment. Avoiding strain causing constant reopening wounds seems damn near impossible. He cannot be bothered to worry about the pain however. Finding and rescuing loved ones holds much greater import than a few trivial gashes.

He watches guards disappear around a corridor in the distance and resumes search in haste. It seems a lifetime ago since feet touched the sands of such dank structure and Agron hopes as fuck memory serves him right. He moves with purpose, craning head from side to side as he tries to recall which tunnel led to the pens reserved for prisoners set for execution. He searches frantically, retracing steps, changing directions whenever he is to come across patrolling guards, then leaving hiding place, resuming task when he is certain coast is clear.

Agron turns another corner, finally recalling which way to take and almost loses footing, a pained groan leaving lips as something solid collides against his body. Breath stutters as intruder's fair face comes to view who is gaping at him in startled fear. It is easy to place name. She is someone not easily forgotten for the sole reason he felt nothing but contempt toward her betrayal. Even more so for she was cause of Nasir's tears while he placed undeserving blame upon self with her actions.

_Chadara._

Agron looks to the archway to his left and is subjected to glares promising death yet all he feels is relief upon laying gaze on familiar faces. There is Donar, Mira and the rest of his fallen brethren in the middle of setting what they could on fire. The air is thick with smoke as flames rapidly lick the beams holding up the weight of the arena.

Spartacus is here, attempting rescue as the rest endeavor to burn the arena to the ground.

The knowledge fucking alleviates spirit.

"You there!"

Agron's mood deflates as soon as the voice reaches ears. "Hasten task and see it done." he commands the rebels and whirls around just in time to grab the Roman fuck by the throat and snap neck. It probably makes a strange sight to them, a Roman killing another Roman. He pulls dagger from the dead man's weapons pouch and throws it straight to his companion's retreating form with deadly accuracy. He crouches down, resolutely ignoring painful reality that once esteemed comrades truly holds no recollection of him in this world. Agron makes swift work of taking the weapons. He stands and turns, quickly noting the glares from earlier has turned to confusion and disbelief.

"Who the fuck are you?" It is Donar finally giving voice, eyes raking up and down his frame. Agron knows he looks every bit the Roman scum, but he does not have time to explain intentions.

"A friend." he replies curtly, handing Donar the steel he gathered, knowing full well the rebellion is in need of them. "Go and finish what you set here to do." he orders again, spurring them to move.

Donar looks ready to turn upon him as soon as blade is in hand, yet seems to consider the importance of having a possible ally. "Gratitude. Whoever the fuck you are."

Agron could not hide his pleased grin. He surely missed the loyal fuck. Mira and Chadara's eyes remain doubtful however, like they are trying to weigh truth to words. "Go!" he tries again, already setting course for intended direction. He does not wait for what their response will be and makes haste toward the prisoner cells.

He soon arrives at destination, crippling terror threatening to consume entire being as soon as he sees nothing but empty cages. The muffled sound of the crowd's screams of death to the slaves from the arena resound through walls. Agron's head snaps towards voices, heart pummeling within chest and blood pounding against ears.

He rushes to the gates leading to the center. It is inevitable to hide from soldiers from then on. An idea presents itself as he struggles to devise way to be rid of them without causing numbers to overwhelm. He cannot risk to be mistaken slaved to hysteria, to be taken away when Nasir is within fucking grasp. Agron steels self, never slowing down in his brisk pace as he breaks words to soldiers closing in on him.

"I am no child to be retrieved by the fucking likes of you." he lashes out as they try to keep up. Agron feels breath catch as soon as he sets eyes upon brother a short distance away, chained and in nothing but a loincloth just like the rest. Their necks turn upon hearing his thunderous remark along with guards standing at their respective posts. Agron seethes upon seeing the purple bruise on Duro's left eye and swears he will kill the fuck that dare inflict pain on beloved brother.

A guard probably of high rank imparts message to Agron in determination as they walk. "Father and sister only worry for your health. They are already waiting in the carriage set for home. Apologies, but the Praetor also ordered to drag you back if you resist."

"Tell Glaber he can go fuck himself! I am no slave of his to come running back if he wills it." Agron retorts and hears Rhaskos chortle in amusement. He gets a punch to the face for his trouble.

"You cannot be here!" the soldier stresses, wary and spiteful gaze resting upon rebel prisoners at such close proximity. He lowers voice with next words. "You are of important status and the Senator would be most displeased if further harm befalls you."

It dawns on Agron that the fuck fears for his life if he is unable to accomplish order given. Unfortunately for him and the rest of his men, he could not care less. Nasir is out there and he cannot waste precious time with heart so close at death's door. Agron's green eyes lock upon Duro's own as native language falls from tongue.

_"Your Thracian leader is here to rescue you and your brothers. Be ready to fight these shits and see yourselves away from this cursed place."_

_"You know of my mothertongue."_ Duro points out in surprise, a renewed hope igniting in the depths of his gaze at the promise of death not claiming them just yet._ "You are here to help us?"_

Agron nods, feeling tears sting corner of eyes with brother so close. He gives in to desire and yanks Duro forward by the neck as he rests their foreheads together. _"I will free you from these bonds and ensure whoever dared lay a hand upon you shall die the most painful of deaths, brother."_

He catches sight of Duro's confused expression as forceful hands pry him off, turning him harshly with soldier of rank demanding answers to actions. "Have you lost fucking mind?! What words did you exchange with the slave? What in the hell did you think you were doing Agronius?"

Agron glares darkly, releasing hidden dagger underneath sleeve and stabbing the man right across the chest in a blink. He twists knife, a growl spilling from lips as he watches the light go out from the other's eyes. "That is not my name, you Roman cunt." the man falls unmoving, shocking everyone that is around to stand witness. Agron does not waste a moment's breath to strike the next soldier within reach and move to the next. A series of commotion takes place in the span of a few seconds as both soldiers and prisoners aim to attack each other. He watches, pleased as brother, Crixus and the rest lunge upon Roman shits, seizing weapons and robbing life.

"See gate opened." Agron exclaims, setting eyes upon Crixus knowing that out of the six of them, he is one that most probably will sympathize with his plight, granting aid without question if he is provided the reason. The man would shake the very earth for the one he loves. They are kindred spirits at least to that regard. "My heart is among the ones to be executed. He is the Syrian. You might know him by the name Tiberius."

"Tiberius?" Crixus repeats the name as he slits enemy throat. He looks to Duro and tilts head. Agron releases relieved breath when they begin to work on the gate's mechanism while Onameous, Rhaskos and the other two continue to hold their own in battle against the soldiers. Agron fights with them, one eye carefully trained upon brother's unguarded form. "He was captured alongside us, risking life so my woman may yet slip from Roman grasp. We thought him dead." the Gaul replies and resumes to pick up sword to kill enemies with as soon as gates are opened.

"He yet lives and I will not lose him." Agron declares and nods head toward Crixus. "Gratitude." he solemnly says and turns to Duro next, resting a hand upon shoulder. "Be safe. Do not let them close upon you." he tells him and is about to rush to Nasir's aid when Duro grips him by the arm.

"You are Roman, yet you kill your own kin with ease, speak my language and claim to hold love for a slave." Duro sets hard gaze upon him. "Gratitude for coming to aid but know if you turn out to be a threat to my brothers, I will have your fucking head."

A small smile spreads across Agron's face upon words. It fills him with pride that brother knows exactly where to place loyalties. "I shall not expect anything less."

Duro lets him go and diverts attention to delivering death. Agron turns intent as well. He runs toward the center of the arena and promptly feels heart cease to beat within chest upon what he finds. He lays gaze on Nasir's beaten and broken figure causing for tears to rapidly fill stricken, torquoise eyes. He all too suddenly cannot breathe through the hurricane of emotions swirling within. It is most miserable sight to see his Syrian kneeling upon the sands, tied up and absent strength to so much as lift gaze.

"Nasirrr!"

Soldiers try to block path as he rushes forward but attempt is useless. Grief and fear for Nasir's life is again causing Agron to loose sense of humanity, making him revert back to his base animal-like fierceness. It does not register to the German how many Romans are dying by his sword, barely hears the sound of steel clashing upon steel in the background, a sure telling of the battle being fought by his rebel brothers with focus solely upon heart.

Agron falls to his knees before Nasir and frees him from his bonds. Choked sobs rise up throat as he gently cradles him to chest, tear-filled disbelieving gaze traveling across his bloodied form. Seeing the extent of his injury shatters heart all over again, reminding him of the time when he died in his embrace. Why does he find self in same cursed situation?

Agron knows like dear brother, he is not the Nasir he had grown to know and love, yet there is nothing he can do to the misery coiling around heart. He's had thoughts that if Nasir were to be alive in this world, they may never be, convincing self that he will deal with the despair if he will never look at him the way his own had. As long as he can watch him, keep him safe, that is all that matters. He will be content knowing that he is happy, even if it is not within embrace. He would rather him love someone else with air in lungs than be for the afterlife.

"Love, look at me. Nasir, look at me." he gasps brokenly as torrents of tears stream down cheeks. He caresses Nasir's blood matted hair, places shaking touches from parted lips to his closed eyelids. "I'm here, love. You're safe." he whispers, quaking violently with every second that Nasir remains docile in his arms. "Do not leave me again. You cannot leave me again."

He yells wretchedly in desperation, closed fist pounding against Nasir's chest, begging him to draw breath. "Wake up! Wake up!" Through his anguish filled cries, he does not hear nor see Amir, does not hear the sound of the crowd's panicked screams. All that despairing mind knows is that Nasir is gone. He has failed him the second time and will never be able to set gaze upon beloved's face ever again. "Come back to me! Damn you! Come back—"

Words seize Agron's throat as grief-stricken green gaze suddenly meets honeycomb orbs. The German stares in frozen silence as Nasir takes one deep shuddering breath, weakened, fluttering gaze trained upon him. The Syrian's lips move the tiniest fraction though no words come out, throat too dry to find voice. Agron's lower lip menacingly trembles as tears further intensify born of utmost relief. He pulls Nasir into his embrace and kisses forehead, cheek pressing gingerly against his temple. He is alive and breathing and Agron himself can breathe again.

With grief subsiding, he slowly comes back to self only noticing then that Amir is kneeling in front of him while the arena burns.

"Dominus." The Syrian addresses Agron, baffled expression decorating bloodied features, though he appears considerably less hurt than younger brother. "You.. what is.."

"You are never to call me in such terms again. You are a free man and I am not your master." Agron declares, thumb finding and rubbing the pulse point at Nasir's neck. He revels in the assurance that life continues to flow within him.

"Dominus, behind you!" Amir suddenly cries out, fear flashing across his face.

"Take your brother and go!" Agron hastily instructs, placing Nasir to his older brother's care. He turns just in time to have Roman sword plunge through the space above his heart. Agron cries out in pain as the blade is pulled back with enemy poised to strike again. "Move, Amir!" he thunders, teeth gritted as bare hand grasps the sharp edge of the sword effectively stopping attack. Blood drips along the steel from newly acquired wounds upon palm. Agron snarls at Roman cunt and kicks him in the chest forcing him to let weapon go. Agron grips handle and walks over to strike sword through fallen soldier's eyesockets.

He looks back a quick second to watch the brothers. Amir is trying to hoist Nasir along but they are both of small stature and being a body slave, he doubts the young man has the strength to carry another weight. Relief washes over him however upon seeing Duro approach them and offer hand. He diverts attention, gaze resting upon three shits awaiting to engage him in battle.

The fresh wound upon chest directly where scar born of hunting days as a child used to be hurts as fuck, adding to the agony of reopened gushing wounds. Sight is beginning to blur from exhaustion and most probably from bloodloss. Agron shakes head in attempt to rid of cobwebs ruining vision. The German breathes deep, forces self to ignore own pain in favor of inflicting worse ones to despised enemy.

He eventually manages to kill two of the Roman shits, however energy has mostly deserted body upon second victory. It is a struggle to see straight and stand on both feet. Agron curses at fact he cannot seem to end the last fuck's miserable existence due to weakness seeping through very bones. The soldier charges forward again, dangerously backing him up toward the stands, too close to possible falling burning debris.

Beloved's voice suddenly reaches ears causing for Agron's attention to snap toward originating sound. His eyes are wide, rendered frozen as he sees Nasir in the distance reaching out for him despite barely awake state with Duro and Amir on both sides supporting frame. Agron does not dare hope. He could not have heard what he thought he did. It is not possible, for if the name given voice by treasured heart is indeed so, then that could only mean—

"Agron!" Comes Nasir's desperate attempt to call for him once more.

Tears come unbidden as meaning to the Syrian's knowledge of his true name makes impossible but clear conclusion.

Nasir, the very same one he had given his heart, who tended to wounds when he was rescued from the cross; who fought alongside him during the final battle and dying within loving arms. It is him. He does not understand how such a miracle is possible, but it is Nasir. Had the gods finally heeded his prayers? So many days and nights he begged the heavens to grant heart's desire.

Hope springs eternal as the promise to be reunited with Nasir gives renewed strength. He strikes Roman scum and is finally able to end life.

Agron sets pace towards loved ones, a yearning, watery smile spreading across face when he suddenly falls to his knees stunned, excruciating pain overwhelming world. He struggles to reach whatever sharp object has pierced flesh, somehow managing to dislodge metal, shuddering gasps and blood flowing from lips. He sways in attempt to shoulder weight, only to slump back upon the sands. Hot tears spring to eyes, quick to denial from thoughts of death finally taking it's claim upon him when heart and family is within fucking reach. _Not now. Please, not now. _

Amidst the groaning and creaking of the arena's structure, Agron lays defeated as the burning stands collapse upon fallen form.

He thinks he hears Nasir scream his name before darkness once again holds him prisoner in it's clutches.

* * *

Short chapter is short. It's only like 3K words _ But I promise there will be more later. And no, Agron is not dead! OMG, do not point that gun at my head! *runs away screaming* Unbeta'd and no check spelling whatsoever as of now. Hope the chapter is still up to liking ;_; And also, Nasir POV in the next update so yey?! Heh. *goes back to watching Nagron pronz 333*


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Within one of the rooms turned into a healing sanctuary inside the temple where the Roman Lucius welcomed them to take shelter, friends turned brothers voice concern. They ask him to lie down and get much needed rest at least enough for him to no longer appear pale as death, yet he could not be swayed, does not have the will nor the heart to leave beloved's side.

Chadara pleads for him to heed advice, but he simply shakes head, gaze only intent upon the slow rise and fall of Agron's chest. Crixus grumbles about fucking little stubborn Syrians while Duro watches from his spot against the wall, dark gaze darting between him and Agron's unconcious form upon cot. Spartacus stands to one side, silently watching as well, questions undoubtedly brewing behind intelligent eyes. Varro walks in a while later bringing sustenance which he nearly forces down Nasir's throat to ensure he does not die from starvation. The blonde gladiator with the face of a cherub is not shy of making known his favor of him. It would seem Nasir has the gift in awakening the man's fatherly instincts.

Gratitude and gladness swells within chest knowing he is given chance to meet the man Spartacus considered dearest friend and brother in this strange not-quite-past, whereas in his own time, the Romans forced rebel leader's hand to take life, grim event told by very own love's lips.

Naevia later in the day sits before him, properly extending her thanks, not only for hiding her in one of the villa's secret passages before she could be carted off to the next Roman of high note, but also risking life for her in the mines and killing the shit that caused her much pain.

"Chadara made mention of what former Dominus has done upon learning of your betrayal." Naevia opens conversation, taking hands beneath grasp, watery gaze filled with apology upon face. "It pains heart to know I caused harsh punishment. I was but a stranger doomed for death and worse, yet you rescued me from cruel hands, treated wounds born of maltreatment and nourished famished heart with promises I shall not be absent too long from loving arms. You did not deserve it after showing such kindness."

The Syrian lifts head, near silent words falling from chapped lips. "I had feared you lost within mind, hiding from the pain you must have undergone while in Roman possession." He recalls how Naevia stared at nothing in the distance, never uttering a single word.

Naevia slowly shakes head, smiling sadly. "Lucretia has not broken me as what was intended. I did not speak nor gave sign I heard your words because I did not trust you. The one who condemned me to such a fate is of your countrymen who sought out Crixus' ruin to gain favor, the one whose life you took when you wrenched me from viscious hold." she pauses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "I had thought you to be same as him, an assumption misplaced for you have done nothing but help, even granting aid so Crixus can be seen to my arms again. I am forever in your debt. Know that I am here should you be in need of nourishing words or simply to have someone to listen."

It does strike Nasir that unlike the Naevia he loved as sister, this one does not seem as broken after her rescue from most undeserved fate. This Naevia spent but near two short weeks in the mines after having found out she was in hiding within the villa by Nasir's aid, saved from crueler fate from crueler men that would only use and discard her as nothing but a thing to satiate cock. She was carted directly to the mines whilst Nasir was punished for not knowing place and daring make a fool of his Dominus. It lifts spirits to know that all the days he spent locked up in the villa's dungeon without food nor water, facing the pain of the lash has not been for naught.

"Gratitude for your kind words. Know that they are well received."

Naevia smiles in return, looks to Agron and Nasir sees the dislike in her eyes. Agron now stands nothing but a Roman, a thing of note he has difficulty of wrapping mind around, but he can tell she is trying to not let harsh words spill past lips for his sake. So far, no one has spoken ill of Agron to his face, undoubtedly seeing how broken up he is with the man's current condition.

"You mentioned of the one that held your heart and how you await to be reunited with him once more. I had not thought it would be a Roman."

Nasir's dark, glassy eyes go downcast, fingers caressing the ridges and lines upon Agron's palm, absent scars from nail of the cross and too soft from what he remembers. "He was not always so."

The sun arose and retired several days past and there has yet any change to be seen in Agron. He stays unmoving, shallow breaths escaping half-parted lips, eyelids firmly shut. Nasir takes pause in the middle of redressing Agron's bandages, stifling sobs threatening to rise from throat. He can no longer ignore the despair tightly gripping chest with the uncertainty of waiting whether Agron shall be reunited within embrace or forever slip from grasp yet again. It is torture in it's purest form. More painful than gushing wounds or the time in that other life when he had thought Agron dead, sharing Crixus' fate of having fallen before Romans in heated battle.

Watching him now fight for his life, so close and yet so far only heightens misery with each passing day, igniting growing flames of fury within heart for the enemy and for the gods that so cruelly allowed Agron's touch for but a moment only to be absent from it again. He kisses him fervently, begging him to return to longed for embrace, hoping against hope that Agron will hear and open fucking eyes, yet no matter how much he pleads, heart remains asleep.

He remembers the final battle with Crassus; so vivid in his mind was the blood, the pain and Agron's tears as he broke down into pieces while cradling battered form within shaking arms, begging him to not leave him behind. He recalls the misery he felt with the thought of being parted from him, bargaining with the gods in his dying breath to not be torn away from loving grasp. Yet it was very heart that was pierced with sharp blade which can only mean death will soon quickly follow.

Next thing he knows, he is back in the villa where he grew up, Chadara by his bedside sobbing in relief. You stopped breathing, she tells him amidst tears, cursing the fucks that their Dominus had invited to use him in bed the night prior. The disgusting pigs stood as sadistic bastards, holding favor for nicking flesh, bondage and restricting air flow as they fuck until completion. One Roman shit forgot self and never released grip around Nasir's neck until he went limp, air absent in lungs.

It was a baffling time in life that filled him with both frustration and hope. Though the Syrian found joy in seeing dear friend alive, he is angry at fact to once again have collar bound around neck. It should have been but distant memory. Fortunately, Nasir never was quick to emotions like Agron was, born of years he had trained self not to reveal what is upon thoughts through gestures or words lest the enemy use it to their advantage, and so he held tongue and observed.

For weeks he lived under the pretense of body slave, no matter how much hand longed to slit Dominus' throat, with the promise to once again lay gaze upon beloved's face. Surely if this was the past, then it will only be a matter of time before Spartacus liberated the villa, with Agron among their numbers. Putting on the mask he perfected over the years spent in slavery, Nasir took everything in stride that was expected of him with current title. If not for thoughts of the German to see him through each night as he tuned out the world, allowing self to be swept away by the memory of his kisses, his touches and of his hardened flesh filling him with burning need, Nasir is certain he would have lost sense and killed the Roman fuck for daring lay a hand on a body that is solely Agron's to possess.

Following the days of Naevia's forced departure from the villa, bleeding and left to rot in that cursed dungeon he waited, constantly fighting the desire to close eyes for fear of never opening them again. He refuses to be for the afterlife without having set gaze upon his heart even one last time. Yet body was too abused to see purpose met. He wakes days later within lavish quarters to the sound of grunting and swearing not too far away. He pulls self from mattress, mindful of wounds and sets pace outside. There he sees the sight of house slaves in training put under Donar's supervision. He diverts attention and locks gazes with a man he is certain he never had laid eyes before yet striking a cord within heart. Chadara stands next to him, then following the man's line of vision, cries out his Roman name, a bright smile spreading across her fair face.

Nasir cringes hearing such a word addressed. For so long he has been called Nasir that the name given to him by Roman shits, Tiberius, continues to leave a sour taste in mouth as it also reminds him of Crassus' son.

The blonde woman collects him to her bossom, crying and thanking all the gods for granting continued life. He carefully reciprocates affections, asssuring her he has recovered. Seemingly satisfied by his answer, Chadara eventually pulls away and introduces the man with the familiar sharp gaze. As soon as the name falls from friend's lips, Nasir could do nothing but stare in shocked silence.

Agron's brother is alive.

"Are you quite alright there, little man?" Duro asks unsurely, causing for Nasir to jerk back to the present, eyes sweeping the entirety of the front porch trying to catch sight of sorely missed heart and finding none.

"Where is your brother?" Nasir hastily queries. Duro looks surprised at first, before his gaze becomes pained and he morosely shakes head. Nasir feels air ripped from lungs with next words, completely forgetting possibility that Duro might be talking of another sibling.

"My brother is no longer of this world. He died with Roman sword upon back in his endeavor to help protecting our lands East of the Rhine."

Nasir's whole world stands transfixed, until words of denial escapes quivering lips and thick droplets of tears stream down from afflicted eyes. Body trembling, he crumples toward the sands with Duro breaking his fall as Chadara yells and begs to tell her what is wrong. However, he could not form words nor coherent thought from the searing pain, the unsurmountable grief of recieving such news about Agron. The thought of one day be reunited with him was solely what kept him going and now he finds Agron already forever torn from grasp a long time past. Nasir sheds tears until none no longer fell and all that remains in hardened, unbeating heart is hatred for the shits that took him away.

When they set course for the mines after breaking words with Crixus of where to find Naevia, Nasir simply did not have the will to live. He took it upon self, a personal mission, to ensure dearest sister is rescued and reunited with Crixus. After that is done, he will gladly embrace death.

Duro went with them to the mines with a good number of men, granting aid, sharing Crixus' cause of saving a woman worth dying for, warm eyes fixed upon Chadara. By Spartacus' command, Varro led the rest not equipped to fight toward Vesuvius. Duro tried to break words with him on the way when put to cart, yet Nasir could not bring self to hold conversation with the man, standing so painful a reminder of what he lost.

Amidst the chaos that took place in that godforsaken maze, with no regard for own life, Nasir charged against enemy, kept eyes trained upon Duro's back, in the same manner he knew Agron would if he still yet draws breath. He gives his all in seeing Naevia to safety, and ending Ashur's life, the fuck that caused her much misery upon coming face to face. It surely was not without cost. With Ashur gone, his pets focused sole attention to get to him. No longer restricted by their leader's rules, they did not have qualms inflicting damage. The only reason he yet lives is because Roman soldiers stepped in just in time to take him away, bringing him with the others to Capua.

He had been resigned to die, yet at the edge of death, he heard Agron's voice crying, begging him to come back and so with what little energy he had within him, he fucking answered his pleas. So why cannot he do the same for him?

A week passes by and blood of his blood make approach to break words.

In the defeaning silence, Amir begins to tell him of how Agronius, his Dominus changed after having woken up from grievous injuries, the result of coming after rebels in the woods. Amir says he was there when the Medicus announced his death only for him to come gasping back to the land of the living a couple of minutes after he was deemed deceased. He imparts how confused and wide-eyed his Dominus had been upon first wake of recovery, and of how when he laid eyes upon him, crumples to the floor, tears spilling from eyes with Nasir's birth name upon lips. He tells him of how when they were to be executed, Agron stormed in like the tempest, killing every Roman and gladiator that dared block path. So palpable was his agony and desperation that watching him scream and beg for Nasir to come back to his arms felt like a stab to one's own heart.

Once done retelling the events he stood witness to, Amir's gaze spoke of a need for explanation as to the connection that is between him and Agron, yet Nasir does not have the heart to form words through choked sobs blocking throat and the river of tears streaming down cheeks, guilt and self-hatred washing over him in waves. How could he dare feel resentment for his German when he has done nothing but tried best for them to be reunited? He has no right to question why he remains asleep. This is Agron, the very same one that climbed down the fucking cross to return to his arms. He should never lose faith. As long as heart yet beats, he has to believe Agron will come back to him.

* * *

It is to the feel of gentle fingers brushing tears from corner of eyes born of days fretting did Nasir at last found self pulled into brother's arms in proper reunion. He looks up to the face he never dared hope to see again. In the midst of falling in and out of consciousness the days of his capture, the image of a young man holding resemblance to the brother he barely remembers stood like a dream more than anything.

They partake in quiet conversation, speaking of the lives lived under Roman rule. Nasir was already made aware days before much to Lucius voicing out displeasure of them spiriting away Agron, that he is now deemed as Senator Albinius' son, brother to Ilithyia and in-law to Claudius Glaber. Amir mentioning names of the family he served no longer came a surprise. Nasir voiced interest to know what this Agronius was like before the apparent "change" took place. Brother makes mention of how Agronius, though never cruel a master still acted the typical Roman. He thought of himself better than others, loved to wine and dine extravagantly and was never absent a slave to do his bidding. He did not favor the sight of collar upon their necks however, which he believes is of Marcus Crassus' influence, a great Roman of wealth that acted as father figure to the young master, one who does not think that slaves are always to be grinded beneath heel.

Nasir feels spine go rigid upon mention of the cruel shit that had Agron nailed to the cross and was cause for his demise. He cannot fathom the image swirling inside head of this Agronius, having same appearance to his heart being anywhere close to treating the man who condemned them all to death with familiarity. He cannot help but wonder what Agron had done upon finding self surrounded by despised foe and of what was done in return. He dismisses thought quickly before questions consume exhausted mind. Amir diverts topic curiosity written all over face, pulling him back to the here and now. He asks how he came to know of Agron, of how he managed to capture the Roman's heart.

How does he even begin to find words to explain the situation he and Agron are in? Would Amir think him mad? Deduce words escaping mouth sprung from fevered mind? He shakes head, clearing thoughts and apologizes. It is not something he can tell anyone until Agron awakes.

Nasir continues to tend to Agron the following days despite own injury causing much pain. He supposes it is petty to feel jealousy at thought of woman Medicus getting an eyeful of Agron bare, but he will have to die all over again first before anyone can dare lay a hand. Agron's body, his heart, his mind, his everything belongs only to him. He overlooks Amir being body slave to the Roman Agronius. He has to or fall prey to the unpleasant twinge in heart whenever wandering, traitorous mind is to conjure images of brother and lover locked in heated embrace. He only recently reunited with brother. He cannot afford a rift coming between them because of insecurities.

He cleanses marred flesh, gently rubbing wet, warm cloth upon skin, tracing wounds, cuts and scars littering across Agron's chest. He is ever careful in applying soothing balm to deepest of wounds; the one where the broken spear from falling debris pierced through left back and the one above heart where the scar he loved nipping between teeth used to exist.

"Tiberius. Would you allow me a moment?"

A small smile grazes lips as soon as he feels Duro's presence approach near from behind. It fills him with joy that soon Agron will have brother within embrace, reunited with blood, a most precious thing the German had always so desired. "I would have you call me by my true name, Duro. Tiberius is the Roman name given to me by men I no longer serve. Nasir will be fine."

"Good. Nasir it is then." Duro replies and grabs a stool to sit upon as he watches Nasir tend to Agron's wounds. They stand in comfortable silence, the Syrian keeping busy with task while the young German gladiator's gaze roams the corners of the sanctuary. "The temple looks very dreadful don't you agree? I was thinking there might be a need to decorate."

A surprised chuckle escapes Nasir with the man's choice of words. He cranes neck and direct bemused eyes upon him. "What is it that you really came here to talk to me about?" he asks, a grin present upon lips. When Duro remained looking at him with widened gaze, a troubled frown creases forehead. "What is it?"

"You are... talking to me... with smile upon face." Duro says, then adds, unsure. "I had not thought you would actually tolerate conversation."

It dawns on Nasir then the reason for the man's expression and lowers head. "Apologies." he mutters under breath, recalling the times Duro tried to offer words of comfort without truly knowing what he was offering comfort for, but was compelled to do the right thing and was always so rudely turned down. "It was not my intention to make you feel unwelcome. I know my actions ever since we met has been unfavorable."

"You looked a man with a death wish."

"That as well." Nasir promptly supplies.

"And the way you came at those soldiers in the mines, it seemed to me one's own life meant nothing. "

The Syrian's gaze falls upon Agron's still form, Duro's eyes following. "I had thought absent reason to live."

"He is Roman, Nasir." Duro points out as if that explains everything.

"I am well aware."

"We should not have taken him with us." Nasir's attention snap back to him, a burning, defensive look settling in his eyes.

Duro however is not swayed from conflicting thoughts of days past and gives them voice. "He causes complications. Spartacus thinks it. Crixus thinks it. By the gods everyone has been on edge since we came back from the remains of the arena carrying barely breathing lumbering oaf of a Roman. And not just any Roman, he is the heir to the Albinius clan. Lucius has come upon news in Neapolis that his father, Senator Albinius and Marcus Crassus has announced reward for his retrieval much higher than the price on Spartacus' head. One hundred thousand denarii. With that amount, every Roman shit will be upturning every rock and stone in order to find him. We will have the Republic upon our backs."

Nasir does not answer, merely glowers at nothing for a moment before addressing Duro again. "You do not understand. None of you can."

"Nasir." Duro starts but Nasir cuts him short.

"I will not be parted from him, and that is the end of it. Please, leave."

"You know I am right in this." Duro tries again, but Nasir has no desire to hear his words.

Duro stomps out of the room, muttering German words under breath about how of all the shits to fall in love with it had to be the son of a high ranking official of the senate. Nasir slumps upon makeshift seat and retreats into himself, tears once again stinging eyes. He takes Agron's hand and kisses palm, forcing deep breaths into lungs as he fights down the sobs threatening to escape.

He knows that Duro means well, and is merely reflecting the concerns of the rest of the brotherhood. But how can he even entertain thought of sending Agron back to enemy arms? To be surrounded by people he has hated all life with every fiber of his being, it will drive Agron mad, and with Duro now, alive and a part of the rebellion; Nasir is certain as the sun rises in the east and retires in the west, Agron will never be persuaded to leave brother's and lover's side, and would so readily take up cause alongside Spartacus as he once had.

Fingers within grasp all too suddenly flickers with movement. Nasir stills, breath catching upon feeling the digits tighten around his own. The Syrian looks toward Agron's face and shoots up from seated position as soon as widened gaze lays sight upon sea-green eyes sorely missed.

Agron's tone is wistful as he finds voice, sounding thick as parchment. "I had thought you lost forever from my arms."

A small, weak smile flits the German's lips as he reaches out a hand which the Syrian holds within grasp and rests upon cheek, deep almond orbs brimming with tears in happiness and utmost relief. The moment Agron is able to sit with his aid and wraps arms around him, tenderly whispering his name, Nasir could no longer tether emotions in and sobs with absolute abandon, burrowing tear-stained face against lover's neck.

Nasir weeps and finally breathes easy. "I bless the fates to find self once again in your embrace."

* * *

A/N: So finally they are reunited. I'm reverting back to Agron's POV after this one which for me at least, is easier to work with. Me and Aggy share the same passion for the word fuck, so yeah you get the drift. Thanks to all that would comment, leave kudos and bookmark this craptastic of a story! *hugs and kisses* Do not smack, Duro. He just doesn't know any better. Comments makes me a very happy author and a happy author thus is a very happy caretaker of a goat named Nagron. I am not kidding. I just named a goat in my Uncle's farm Nagron _ The things fandom does to ya. LOLOLOL!

P.S. You guys know what's sad? Writing long ass chapters and no one can't even be bothered to leave a comment or a feedback on how the story is faring so far at least in your opinion. That's very depressing.


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